


I Wrote This In A Waiting Room

by Sparks_And_Ink



Series: Sterek Stuff [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Internal Monologue, Kinda, M/M, Mentioned Laura Hale, Mentioned Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek, POV Second Person, Sad Derek, Sad Ending, Stiles Stilinski Dies, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparks_And_Ink/pseuds/Sparks_And_Ink
Summary: You learn young that fire kills quick.OrWhen admin literally cried while writing this sad ball of sadness.





	I Wrote This In A Waiting Room

You learn young that fire kills quick.

You learn soon after that drugs don't kill at all, not for people like you.

You have family (a family of one and a half) and a place to sleep at night (a rundown apartment somewhere in New York that you don't bother to memorize because it doesn't feel like  _home_ ) and it's just not enough. Not now and not then.

She leaves on a bright Sunday morning, the wind between the buildings around the two of you deafening. You let her go, even if it takes a fight, and that last thing to say to her is  _be safe._

She wasn't safe

You learned young that tears are useless, but you cry anyway as you bury half of her mangled body on the land that took almost everything from you.

They dig up her body anyway. You don't cry then.

It's hard to breathe in the town you grew up in. You connect the struggle to smoke in your lungs and suddenly it's like you can't breathe at all. You suffer in silence.

Until silence is nothing but a fantasy.

You meet him along the way and he's perfect without perfection. His eyes glow like amber and his dark hair is a stark contrast to his pale, mole-dotted skin.

He's sixteen.

He learns young that death is impatient and crippling. It breaks your already-crushed heart and you suffer to the sound of his voice, his never-ending flow of words.

People die around the both of you and you can't do much more than make sure he stays standing.  This doesn't stop you from being the first to find his body.

You cradle his broken body and let the useless tears run free. It makes you feel hollow. The lack of a jack-rabbit heartbeat makes your heart yearn for a break from being broken.

You learned young that fire kills quick, but nothing you learned could have prepared you for this.

 


End file.
